


Burn For You

by orphan_account



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2762414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It –“ and here, Gogo pauses, as if the words are catching in her throat, “Hiro, it’s… there’s someone here. We’re not sure what it – what he is – but - Hiro –“ </p><p>Frustration and nerves make his reply come out harsher than he intends, “Seriously, Gogo? What the hell is going on?” </p><p>It’s like the dam breaks, like every shred of energy she has flows out of her with her reply. </p><p>“It’s Tadashi.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brothers

 The Team is done with their, as Hiro likes to call it, Bad Guy Extermination for the day. They haven’t had much to do recently except break up fights and bust lower level criminals. In the last year since Tadashi’s death and Callaghan’s arrest, they’ve only really been asked by the local police to touch up on a couple of cases, and nothing _really_ big – just enough to keep them busy. Hiro can kind of understand that no one knows what to do with a bunch of genius college students with super hero gear, but he had at least been expecting a _little_ more freedom in the crime fighting department. In short, Hiro is starting to get to the end of his patience. He’s still just fifteen (and only recently turned, at that) boy and his attention span is around the equivalent of a squirrel, _especially_ when he’s bored. If Tadashi had been here, he would have found something for Hiro to do that would have kept him busy. Helped him with his robotics homework (even though he was _way_ ahead already) or at least come up with some new idea for him to put together. Maybe by now they would have even come up with some new installments for Baymax.

The truth of the matter is, when Hiro gets **_bored_** , he also **_thinks_** a little too much.

Specifically, he thinks a little too much about Tadashi. And that’s dangerous, considering Tadashi is never coming back – and the recurring ‘what if’ thoughts could potentially lead to some obsessive, unhealthy behavior or ideas. Hell, Hiro’s specialty is robotics and he’s ashamed to admit that he’s at least considered the idea of bringing a carbon copy of his brother back through wires and metal and equipment. In the end, though, Hiro understands that it wouldn’t be _his_ brother. It wouldn’t really be Tadashi. Besides, the Team would be devastated and even more worried about him if he tried something so stupid.

Tonight is one of those that has followed a particularly bad and unproductive day. The only action they had gotten all day was with a shoplifter who the Team had just happened to see running out of the store they had been picking up snacks in.  Hiro had used a little too much force in restraining the guy before delivering him to the police station. He hadn’t _meant_ to basically tackle the dude, but _damn_ it! It was a Saturday! The guy should have been ashamed at how easy he had been to catch.

“Uh, Hiro that was… that was kind of unnecessary,” Honey says hesitantly, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, seriously,” Gogo agrees, “You were a maniac out there. The look on your face was probably enough to make that guy piss his pants. Hell, you even scared _me_ a little.”

Hiro rolls his eyes, “He was a _criminal_ , it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t deserve – “

“Your body is showing signs of anxiety, particularly high levels of emotional distress.”

“ _Baymax –_ “

“I suggest a positive activity that will distract you from your uncontrolled emotional responses due to the high stress situations, pubescence, and the unaltered state of your feelings towards Hamada Tadashi’s recent passing.”

The looks he gets from his friends is enough for his frustration to rise. He isn’t _grieving,_ no matter what Baymax says! He’s not in the throes of some stupid ‘pubescent mood swing’ either. He’s just bored. _Bored_!

“I’m leaving.”

“Hiro, wait!” Wasabi reaches out to snag his shirt, but Hiro is already threading through the crowded street and disappearing. The four remaining, including Baymax, watch the spot where the boy was just a moment before. After a couple of seconds, Gogo’s bubblegum pops and she sighs.

“Fuck.”

* * *

The door to Tadashi’s room hasn’t been opened in at least three or four months. Hiro knows it’d probably be a good idea to air it out, maybe put away some stuff inside. But the idea of stepping foot into a space that Tadashi had once inhabited every night seems like a huge hurdle. Hiro knows that when he opens the door, the smell of his brother, the memories of him, will come spilling out and worm their way into his heart and mind again. At one point he had opened it to get the cap, but that seems like it was forever ago – and besides, Hiro doesn’t wear it too often. It seems to make Aunt Cass sad and to be honest it’s not exactly a mood lifter to him either.

Still, before he knows it, Hiro is standing up from his desk chair and ambling over to his bed, where the hat is hanging off the bedpost. He picks it up by the bill and spins it around on one finger.  _Damn, Tadashi_ , he thinks, _you just had to try and save that bastard, didn’t you? A saint until the end._

Before he can start to dwell on all the possible ‘what if’s’ that could have saved Tadashi’s life at the time, Hiro’s computer screen lit up. Gogo’s face pops up on the monitor, her breathing coming out in short gasps she shouts, “Hiro! E – Emergency situation!”

“What! What is it?”

“It –“ and here, Gogo pauses, as if the words are catching in her throat, “Hiro, it’s… there’s someone here. We’re not sure what it – what _he_ is – but - Hiro –“

Frustration and nerves make his reply come out harsher than he intends, “Seriously, Gogo? What the _hell_ is going on?”

It’s like the dam breaks, like every shred of energy she has flows out of her with her reply.

“It’s Tadashi.”

The answer, in Hiro’s mind, is akin to some sort of sick joke. Something has got to be wrong with Gogo, because there’s no way that she would ever play something this cruel on him. In fact, Hiro hasn’t heard her speak Tadashi’s name more than a few times since he died. To be saying it here, now, over a fucking _computer_ of all things?

“Is Honey there with you?” Hiro asks slowly, narrowing his eyes, “Where is everyone? Are you – are you okay?”

Gogo seems to hear the skepticism in his voice because she barks back, “I’m not fucking crazy! The others are otherwise occupied. I’ll send you the address, but you better get your ass down here as quick as you can!” She stops, and then continues in a gentler (but still just as firm) tone, “And yeah, I am serious. I don’t know who this faker is, but he’s got the look of your brother, kid. You know I wouldn’t joke about something like this. Never this.”

It’s not Tadashi. Of course it isn’t. Whoever she’s seen, it _isn’t_ Hiro’s brother, so the spike of pain in his chest has to be from something else. Shock? Yeah, _that._ If Baymax were here, Hiro is sure that he’d be saying something along the lines of, ‘my scanners indicate a decrease in blood pressure, severe chest pain, and rapid pulse. Emergency care is required immediately.’

Hiro’s barely able to choke out, “I’ll be there” before shutting down the screen and curling up at the end of his bed. God, this must be a panic attack. He hasn’t had one in months, and only a few times since the day of the fire. He had thought he was over this crushing, shaky feeling of loss and desperation – but it’s back now and stronger than it’s ever been. He knows he has to get up, has to pull on his gear and help his friends.

 _A few more minutes,_ he thinks, _just a few minutes._

He’s still a kid, after all. And it’s now that he feels smaller and more helpless than ever.

Just a few minutes.

_I’ve got time._

 


	2. Out Of The Frying Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brother. Tadashi’s lungs seize up and he almost chokes with the barrage of – what? A memory? It’s something like that, only more intense, a thousand emotions with random faces and names filtering in all at once. He feels as if he’s going to vomit. The edges of his vision are going a little fuzzy and he sways on his feet, held up only by Wasabi’s hands on his shoulders.
> 
> Your brother, his brain tells him, you have a brother, a little brother. Hiro Hamada.

 He remembers a _fire._ He remembers smoke and flames and _heat_ and he remembers a boy calling his name, “Tadashi!” and then nothing. He knows that he is Tadashi, nineteen years old, and his brain never stops working. He suspects that he’s some sort of genius, maybe. Or he _was_ , because who is he now? In the space where a life should be, where his past should be, there’s nothing. Tadashi knows things, but he’s not sure how or why he knows them. The only memory that matters to him more than anything else is the sound of the voice he last heard. He understands that at one point, at one time, he loved that voice. Tadashi isn’t sure what love is now. He’s not sure if he can ever have it again. But that voice? He can trust it. And that’s about the only thing that he’s one hundred percent certain of.

Right now, however, he’s not thinking about much of anything besides escaping from the five thugs who are chasing him.

Up until this point, it’s been a slow day. Since he had woken up without any memories three weeks ago, Tadashi had immediately become desperate. He had been hungry, tired, and in pain from lingering injuries. Surprisingly the wounds themselves were not burns – just cuts and bruises, none of which he could remember how he had gotten. After having a few major freak outs and wandering around aimlessly for a day or two, Tadashi had sat down and begun fiddling with a bunch of trash pieces. About an hour later, he had looked down at his hands and realized that he had essentially just made a makeshift _robot._ It looked simple on the outside, but his hands had seemed to act on their own, connecting small bits of wire and metal until it looked fairly sturdy. He had kept working, letting himself drift on the rise and tide of his thoughts while letting his hands and muscle memory do all the work for him. Tadashi had figured out soon afterwards that robots, no matter what they are or what they do, sell pretty good in dirtier, grittier portions of the city.

Maybe everything would have turned out just fine, maybe he could have kept making money and lived off of just that forever. That is, maybe he wouldn’t be in the situation he’s in now if he hadn’t been introduced to the world of _bot fighting._ Making robots got Tadashi enough to eat and drink and keep him housed in a dirty, cheap room, but it wasn’t enough to live off of comfortably. Besides, he had been asking around, trying to figure out who he was and where he had come from. But in a huge city like this, there were way too many Tadashi’s to count. And most people down in the shit holes of San Fransokyo weren’t exactly loose lipped. Bot fighting had been an easy enough way to pay his rent, while leaving enough left over for him to buy a couple pairs of shirts, pants, and essentials. Unfortunately, Tadashi learned pretty quickly that a lot of people don’t take too well to losing. Tadashi tries to be as humble and keep his head down as much as he can, but he’s also known from the beginning that the sore losers were bound to catch up to him eventually.

Still, today is a _Saturday._ Couldn’t they have waited twenty four hours to try and beat him to a pulp?!

Apparently not.

“Get your ass back here, you cheating piece of shit! I’m going to beat your fucking head into the ground!”

Tadashi flinches at the shouted promise, swerving around a garbage can and trying not to trip over the multiple pieces of trash lining the alleyways and streets.

“Get back here and fight us fair and square!”

_Ha._ Five against one doesn’t exactly sound like a fair fight to Tadashi. Even one against one at this point wouldn’t be pretty, considering Tadashi’s been all but skin and bones since his reintroduction into life. He’s been eating cheap fast food for weeks and vegetables or fruits are a rarity. He’s not exactly at his best (even though he can’t remember what his physique was like before all of this, it couldn’t have been _this_ bad).

He’s just about given up hope of actually escaping from this situation. That is, his hopes are slowly dropping until he rams head on into a solid chest and bounces back about three or four feet. When he picks himself up off the cement, Tadashi looks up and meets the astonished (and slightly horrified) expression of a tall black man with tied back dreads, wearing a big green sweater and jeans. For a few seconds, the two of them stare at eachother, Tadashi trying desperately to catch his breath and the man in front of him just – just _staring,_ like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“T – _Tadashi!?”_ the man finally says. The name comes out in a high pitched wheeze, like all the breath has been knocked out of him. Tadashi knows the feeling.

“Uh,” he replies, thoroughly confused, “Yeah, that’d be me.”

The thugs behind him come to a skidding stop, as if weighing the chances of all five of them winning against one beefy dude in a fluffy sweater. Apparently the risk of losing isn’t high enough, because they all take another few steps forward menacingly. Before Tadashi can react, the man he’s never met (or has he? Tadashi can never be sure, especially not now) takes him by the arm and shoves him behind so that he’s not directly in the line of fire. He has a pinched look on his face and his grip on Tadashi’s arm is a little too tight before he lets go. The guy doesn’t even look like he particularly _wants_ to help Tadashi, more like instinct of some sort is taking over and propelling him to step in as a defense system.

“If you’re gonna help this little shit stain, then we’re taking you down with him!” one of the group snarls.

“Gentleman, I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if there wasn’t any fighting –“

_Seriously?!_ Tadashi thinks, _he’s trying to play the peacekeeper now?_ Surely a guy like this could take all five of them without breaking too much of a sweat. These underworld thugs aren’t exactly the biggest men around – and the fact that they’re just as malnourished and grungy as Tadashi isn’t doing them any favors. Before Tadashi can figure out if he should just continue his escape plan or not, a sharp voice rises from behind him.

“Are these assholes _bothering_ you, Wasabi?”

Okay and _what_ the hell kind of name is ‘Wasabi’?! Tadashi turns around to ask just that, his mouth opening and then snapping shut immediately when he sees the look on the dark haired girl’s face. Her jaw seems to have come almost completely unhinged, her eyes bugging out of her head and all the blood draining from her face. Behind her, a couple more teenagers around Tadashi’s age have slowly come forward and are now giving him the same astonished stare that he’s earned from the other two.

“It – it’s not – _possible_ ,” the other girl, a reddish blond, squeaks out. Her hand comes up and she reaches forward, like she wants to touch him, before quickly retracting it and fisting it at her side. “This isn’t real. You can’t be… _here_. It’s not possible, it’s just _not possible._ ”

Tadashi isn’t entirely sure how he’s ended up here either, with a bunch of thugs staring at him with raised eyebrows and puzzled looks and a group of teenagers gaping as if they’ve seen a ghost or something. Suddenly, the dark haired girl snaps, “Wasabi, grab him and _keep_ him here. Honey, Fred – take care of those dickheads –“ and here she makes a vague motion towards the pack of grungy miscreants, “I’ll call Hiro.”

That name sounds vaguely familiar, like an itch popping up in Tadashi’s mind. He’s just about to try and ask about the one real clue he’s ever had as to where he’s come from. But before he can, the others spring into action. The large green-sweater dude – Wasabi, apparently – nods and grabs Tadashi before he even understands what exactly is happening. On instinct, he tries to yank his arms out of Wasabi’s grasp, but the guy is like a huge boulder, not even flinching when Tadashi’s leg kicks out and hits him in the shin. Still, he looks vaguely sick, as if Tadashi has just seriously hurt his feelings.

“Let me go!” Tadashi shouts, gritting his teeth, “I don’t know who you think I am, but –“

As if a switch has been flipped, Wasabi’s face morphs into a scowl and his grip tightens, “I don’t know,” he snaps, “I don’t know _who_ you are. But if this is some criminal’s idea of a joke, it’s _not funny._ ”

Sensing that this isn’t the best time to try struggling again, Tadashi stops moving and bites his lip, frustration bubbling up inside him. He looks over to where the girl who had been giving orders is standing. She’s shouting at someone on some sort of communication device, her cheeks red from anger and her stance defensive and tense. He catches the tail end of the conversation where she says, resigned, “I don’t know who this faker is, but he’s got the look of your brother, kid.”

_Brother._ Tadashi’s lungs seize up and he almost chokes with the barrage of – what _?_ A memory? It’s something like that, only more intense, a thousand emotions with random faces and names filtering in all at once. He feels as if he’s going to vomit. The edges of his vision are going a little fuzzy and he sways on his feet, held up only by Wasabi’s hands on his shoulders.

_Your brother,_ his brain tells him, _you have a brother, a little brother. Hiro Hamada._


End file.
